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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246617">Like stars burning holes right through the dark</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feeeshy/pseuds/Feeeshy'>Feeeshy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Backstory, Black Mage Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Character Study, Culinarian Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Drinking, FFxivWrite2020, Gen, Lalafell (Final Fantasy XIV), Lalafell Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Multi, Multi-Classed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), One Shot Collection, Origin Story, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Platonic Relationships, Post-Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal, Snippets, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020, Ul'dah (Final Fantasy XIV), Warrior of Light Is A Shard of Azem (Final Fantasy XIV), shoebill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:20:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,385</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feeeshy/pseuds/Feeeshy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One shot collection for the FFXIV Write 2020 prompt challenge, centering on my Lalafell Warrior of Light.</p><p>Day 16: Fade</p><blockquote>
  <p>If only in a pale imitation, she would bring something of him with her on her journeys.</p>
</blockquote>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Azem &amp; Lahabrea (Final Fantasy XIV), Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch &amp; Warrior of Light, Y'shtola Rhul &amp; Warrior of Light</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched Bookclub FFXIV-Writes 2020 Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Crux</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Little bit of Warrior of Light origin story. Playing fast and loose with word definitions.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Small, quick footsteps echoed down the narrow back road of Ul’dah. Neighbors ambling about after a long day of work didn’t pay any mind to the young Lalafell running by.</p>
<p>Energy buzzed through Popoki. Today was her sixth nameday and she couldn’t be more excited. Her big brother promised to teach her how to cook her favorite snack when he got home today: dark pretzels, just like how Momma made.</p>
<p>When she barreled through the front door, a startled Popofuqi greeted her. Her brother had the ingredients ready and laid out in their small kitchen waiting for her. Climbing atop her stool so she could reach the countertop, he handed her a big wooden spoon and slid a large bowl in front of her. He gave her the fun job of mixing everything together, while he left himself with the boring task of measuring it all out.</p>
<p>“Now, we combine all this,” Popofuqi directed as he poured flour, salt and yeast into the bowl. In no time, the water and maple syrup he had added before turned the mixture into a thick dough that became harder and harder to stir, but Popoki wouldn’t give up. She stirred and mixed and stirred until she could barely get the spoon around.</p>
<p>“How’s this?” she asked, almost out of breath, looking over at Popofuqi for approval. He peered over at his little sister’s hard work.</p>
<p>“Exactly like that.” He beamed. Taking a plate from a cabinet, he placed it on top of the bowl, sealing the dough ball within.</p>
<p>“Now what?” Popoki looked at her brother with wide eyes, awaiting his next instructions.</p>
<p>“Now, we wait for it to rise. It’ll be ready in about a bell or two.”</p>
<p>“We have to wait?” She stuck her bottom lip out.</p>
<p>“You like the soft pretzels, right? The fluffy kind?”</p>
<p>Popoki nodded. That was how a dark pretzel was supposed to be, unlike the smaller, crunchy ones she had eaten once before.</p>
<p>“Then this is the most important part.” Her brother held up a finger before she could argue. “Without patience, all that hard work you did mixing would turn into a tough, gross bread. You don’t want that, do you?” Popoki poked her lip out further, but Popofugi extended a hand to her. “Why don’t we take a walk to pass the time? We’ll go to the park.”</p>
<p>That got her perking up. She did like the playground, even if it was a small dead-end alley between two buildings some of the bigger kids had stacked crates in for climbing on. Lip still pushed out, Popoki nodded again, and took the offered hand.</p>
<p>“Do you think Momma will be home tonight?” She asked as her brother locked the door behind them. She had left for her new miner job nearly a full moon ago. After the first week, Popofuqi had said the work might keep her away for longer than usual, but this now was the longest the siblings had been without her. He paused with his fingers still on the handle.</p>
<p>“I don’t know, Popoki.” He blinked and rubbed his eyes, tired beyond his fifteen summers. Turning to her with a gentle smile, he extended his hand again. “Let’s go see if any of your friends are at the playground this evening.”</p>
<p>Hand-in-hand, together they walked down the sleepy Ul’dahn back road.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Sway</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>5.3 spoilers! Popoki and the Scions. Jumping ahead to current canon. Once I figure out Popoki's age I might go and add dates to these chapters, but she's somewhere in her twenties.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Flickering lanterns hung along the walls of  Dawn's Respite. An unusual, but welcome quiet had overtaken the Rising Stones, finally allowing all the Scions to indulge in a break. Even the normally busybody Warrior of Light and Dark took advantage of the reprieve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Popoki sat at the large table lit under a hanging lamp, diligently cleaning the array of weapons she had brought up from her armory. Knicks in rapiers, dents along ax heads, smudges on blades from fell beats—all wiped and fixed, ready for the grinder for sharpening later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across the table, Y’shtola and G'raha stood facing the bookshelf set against the far wall, talking quietly amongst themselves. Ever since returning to the Source, when time allowed, the two would go on for hours together about the soul and aether and all they had learned about it on the First. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>G'raha was a very animated talker, Popoki noticed. Back on the First he could be as well, but returned to his younger self she could truly see how his years as Exarch aged him. His tail most of all gave away his youthful energy as it swished behind him, with quick flicks to either side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Y’shtola, in stark contrast, conducted herself with her usual calm composure. A quiet confidence emanated from her every movement, even down to the slow sway of her tail back and forth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is aught amiss?" At Urianger's voice overhead, Popoki shot up straight. Heat tinged the tip of her ears at the realization she had been staring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, I, um," she quickly gathered her things and started cleaning whatever blade was nearby. "It's nothing, just getting lost in my own thoughts."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tall Elezen chuckled to himself, but left it at that.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Muster</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Emet and Popoki. Takes place during 5.0</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Today, Popoki decided to take the leap. Courage mustered, words found, she would finally ask Emet-Selch a question that had nagged at her since their first meeting.</p><p>Luckily, he was easy to find. Or, more accurately, they could find each other. Whether or not by his design, previous walks around the Crystarium had taught her that she and the Ascian had a knack for running into each other. And on cue, as the Warrior meandered through the markets, a familiar figure appeared through the crowd. </p><p>“Doing a bit of shopping, are we?” Emet-Selch’s sardonic voice asked from above, peering over her head at the goods in front of her.</p><p>“Fancy seeing you here. Interested in mortal wares?” Popoki shook the potion she had been eyeing up at him. </p><p>“As if these trinkets would ever be worth my time,” he scoffed, looking down his nose at the shelf of concoctions and ignoring the sour look from the shopkeeper.</p><p>Not wanting to risk insulting the apothecary further, Popoki returned the bottle and started walking away, the Ascian following in step with her.</p><p>“I’m happy we ran into each other, for once. I wanted to ask you about something.” She sucked in a deep breath, steeling herself. It was now or never, and she needed to pull the trigger before she lost the nerve. “Can you tell me about Garlemald?”</p><p>Emet-Selch cocked a brow down at the pink-haired Lalafell.</p><p>“Out of all the boundless knowledge I hold, you would ask me of that dreary place?”</p><p>“Well...yes?” They slowed to a stop as Popoki glanced up at him. “I’ve never been, so the next best thing is stories from people who have.”</p><p>Something in her words stuck a cord with him, and he lit up with amusement clear on his lips.</p><p>“Well, well. Does your little traveler's heart yearn to learn more of the places you have yet to visit?”</p><p>Popoki scrunched up her nose, surprised by how easily he could read her.</p><p>“You are not the first I’ve asked. I know other Garleans who have told me stories of their home. But you offer a most unique perspective.”</p><p>Emet-Selch studied her in quiet thought. Then, his brows relaxed, and the tarnished gold of his eyes caught a nostalgic glint.</p><p>“It is a strange feeling, to have been somewhere you have not.” His soft expression faded at Popoki’s questioning head tilt. “Nevermind,” he sighed with forced theatrics. “Very well, hero, I will humor you, just this once. Come.” He motioned for her to follow as he started walking again. “I will regale you with tales of Garlemald, as only the founding father can.”</p><p>As Popoki followed along, listening to him with intent, she couldn’t help but notice how he slowed his long strides for her sake.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Clinch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>More origin story, set between 1.0 and 2.0. She’s 18 or 19 here? Maybe? If I ever figure out a proper timeline for her?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sand billowed behind the crazed beast as it charged at Popoki. She gripped her cane tight, the gnarled wood digging into her fingers, knowing the only thing between her and an untimely demise at the creature’s fangs was her talent for the arcane. All she needed was one perfectly executed spell to clinch her victory, but time was quickly running out. With a steadying breath, she raised her weapon up, and commanded the aether burning within her to rain destruction down on her enemy’s head…</p><p>⸻</p><p>“There you go.” The Thal priest placed a light-weight sack of coins into Popoki’s waiting hand. “A hundred gil, just as we agreed.”</p><p>Immediately, she untied the knot and peered inside the small bag, eyeing the payment within to make sure it looked the right amount. The thaumaturge guild had never shortchanged her before on any previous errands she had run for them, but it was better to be safe than sorry.</p><p>“What do you need with marmot blood, anyway?” she asked as she secured the fastening back in place and stowed it in her pocket.</p><p>“Ah, such secrets are not for the uninitiated. Maybe if you ever joined us <em> officially—” </em></p><p>Popoki turned on her heel and walked away before the man could finish. Even as an untrained novice, the ease with which she wielded her wooden cane had caught many eyes in the lower rung in the Order. Always eager for new recruits, they attempted to solicit her anytime she did odd jobs for them.</p><p>And every time, she fought the pull to join, to follow her dream of becoming an adventurer. With the Calamity leaving their lives in a wreck, her brother needed her home to help pick up the pieces.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Matter of Fact</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Y'shtola and Wol drinking together, with a hint of Emet and wol. Set post-5.3</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“As a matter of<em> fact,” </em> Popoki started, the mead filling her to the brim with confidence, “I have it on good authority that what you are implying is, in essence, <em> absurdity. </em> I hardly thought you the jesting type, if I’m being frank.”</p>
<p>With a small smile, Y’shtola scoffed, her own drink of wine influencing her usual composed countenance. </p>
<p>“Is that so? Then tell me, why was it that anytime the Ascian spared you even a passing glance, your ears blushed with the faintest of dustings?”</p>
<p>Popoki choked mid swig, throwing herself into a coughing fit at her friend’s bold assertion.</p>
<p><em> “I—What!—How could you—” </em> Her cheeks burned from more than just the alcohol, and she was grateful for their choice of drinking in the Seventh Heaven instead of inside the Rising Stones. Had she really been so obvious? If Y’shtola had seen it plain, then surely the others…</p>
<p>A gentle hand came to rest on her shoulders. </p>
<p>“Worry not,” Y’shtola said, trying to hide a chuckle behind her words, “everyone else seems oblivious to your schoolgirl crush. Though, it is reassuring to get confirmation of what I thought was a wild hypothesis.”</p>
<p>Popoki could only level a tipsy glare at her friend, but luckily the Miqo’te woman did not press the subject further as their conversation shifted back to discussions of other things.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. New</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Free day! Takes place between 1.0 and 2.0, sometime after chapter 4. Big brother worries about his little sister.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dirt and sand crunched under Popoki’s feet as she walked along the train tracks. Black Brush Station was still a good malm away, and under the sweltering evening Thanalan sun that distance seemed all the greater. Hired by the miner’s guild to clear out some coblyns from the Nanawa Mines, the hardest part of the job was the trip to and from. </p><p>A pang of pain shot through her right hand, reminding her of the one other hiccup of the otherwise straightforward task. Her old, weathered cane was showing its age. Though, for something she pilfered from a pile behind a secondhand shop, it had lasted beyond expectations. Twine wrapped around the places it had started to splinter, holding it together, and when casting fire spells, the wood heated with the aether coursing through it. Not enough to burn itself up, but enough to cause discomfort in her grip. </p><p>But the heavy coinpurse clinking in her pocket reminded her that the job had been worth it. She grinned to herself. While the journey long, it took her right by the newly opened Coffer &amp; Coffin. Hardy food for cheap. There was nothing better, in her humble opinion. </p><p>A sharp, shrill cry from help cut through her thoughts of stews and pies. Without thinking, she drew her weapon and ran full-tilt towards the sounds of a scuffle.</p><p>⸻</p><p>“So, let me get this straight,” Popofuqi pinched the bridge of his nose as he set a roll of bandages on the kitchen table, “you saw a group of bandits attacking a carriage and, instead of summoning the guards, you took it upon yourself to fight them?” He sat in the chair across from Popoki and held her hand in his, turning it over to examine the burns on the pads of her fingers and palm.</p><p>“I knew I could take them,” she grumbled. Her brother muttered something under his breath about her recklessness. Then, uncorking the nearby vial of salve, he started working the cool cream gently over her hand. She nodded towards the bottle. “Did you make this?” </p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“Things with the alchemists’ guild must be going well, then. I can already feel it fixing me up,” she chirped, hopeful to pull him out of this sour mood aimed at her. But only grumpy silence followed. “You know it was my cane that did this, not the thieves. They scattered after only a few fireballs.”</p><p>“Why don’t you get a new one?” He didn’t look at her as he wiped his hands clean on an old rag. Picking up the bandages, he began wrapping her hand with the delicacy of a physician at work. Apparently, he had been taking his studies more seriously than she initially thought.</p><p>“You know we can’t afford that, Popofuqi.” </p><p>“What about the payment from your job today? Seems a fair amount.”</p><p>“I can’t use all that gil on myself.” Popoki glanced at the coinpurse set on the countertop. Easily enough for food for a week or two, or rent, or any of the myriad of things they needed on the regular.</p><p>“If you’re going to venture further and further outside of Ul’dah, I’d rather you have a weapon you can rely on. Tomorrow, use the gil, and get yourself a new cane. Something that won’t have me practicing my apothecary lessons on you.”</p><p>Popoki furrowed her brow at him, but nodded. Even while he kept his gaze from hers, his tone left no room to argue.</p><p>And, well, she bitterly admitted to herself that a cane that didn’t fight back would be nice.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Nonagenarian</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Takes place sometime during 3.0. Popoki slowly moving up in the world.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“The price is what it is, young lady. Either take it or leave it.” Eyes narrowing, the wizened nonagenarian glared through his pince-nez.</p>
<p>“The price is ridiculous! Look at how beat up it is. Do you know how much work I’m going to have to put into restoring it?” Popoki’s breath swirled around her in the frigid air as she argued her point. Night was falling fast on the Jeweled Crozier, and with it fell the temperature. </p>
<p>“It doesn’t concern me what you do with it after you buy it. My price is set, and it is non negotiable.”</p>
<p>Straightening himself to his full height, the stuffy Ishgardian Elezen remained unmoved behind his stall of wares. Weapons of all variety laid on the stand before him, with the bigger, heavier stuff stacked against the far wall. Popoki had not intended to purchase a new blade this day, but the battle axe he had on display caught her eye as she passed through the markets.</p>
<p>While she only recently took up the art of the Warrior, and while such an exquisite weapon like this was beyond her ken, she still wanted it. Once fixed up and polished, with its ornate swirls engraved into the metal of the axe head, it would look quite nice in her armory.</p>
<p>Running her hand along the sturdy handle, she let out a frustrated sigh. </p>
<p>“...How high did you say the price was?”</p>
<p>“Seventy thousand, and not a coin less.”</p>
<p>Displeased to spend so much gil, Popoki bit the inside of her cheek, trying to convince herself she didn’t need this fancy looking piece of equipment. And yet...her budding collector’s heart made her fingers itch for her coinpurse.</p>
<p>With a defeated grumble, propping the battle axe against the front of the stall, she reached into her pocket. At least, with the growing renown of being the Warrior of Light, gil came easier these days.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Clamor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Post 5.3. Popoki tries to make friends with anyone and anything, including weird birds.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The full moon hung in the sky outside the open window of the Pendants. Closing the book in front of her, Popoki leaned back and rubbed her tired eyes. Earlier, her grimoire took an unfortunate hit while on a hunt in Lakeland, and had taken well into the night to repair. </p><p>A ruffle of feathers to her side, a faint blow of wind, and she knew her strange roommate had returned once again. A stoic shoebill now stood atop the table, so still one would be forgiven for thinking it an underwhelming hunting trophy.</p><p>“Just clamoring for my attention tonight, aren’t you?” she joked at the bird. Rarely did it ever get this close to her, content to perch on the railing just outside her window most days. She reached over and stroked along its back, its feathers smooth under her touch. It gave no indication on if it enjoyed the pets or not. </p><p>“Such a regal air. You remind me of him, you know, in that way. Like nothing’s worth stirring you to action.” She spoke the words fondly, as a thought aloud. </p><p>A memory from her time with Emet-Selch came unbidden—him inviting himself to keep her company while she perused the markets. They had a pleasant conversation about how the arcane wares at the Crystarium were lacking, how she wondered where on Norvrandt she might find a suitable rod for black magics.</p><p>A cold weight settled in her chest. She shook her head to clear away the image, but not before the corners of her eyes began to sting. Quickly, she rubbed a hand over her face.</p><p>“Look at me, blubbering to a bird like a godsdamn fool.” Propping her head on her hand, she studied her feathered friend. “I think he would be cross with me for comparing him to you. It may have even <em> ruffled his feathers.” </em> Popoki grinned to herself at her own joke. The shoebill remained ever unimpressed.</p><p>“...Can you keep a secret, little bird? This is a big one. You can’t tell a soul.” At the ensuing silence, Popoki had every confidence the creature would hold its tongue.</p><p>“....I miss him.” She bit her lip at having spoken the words aloud. Were anyone else to hear such a thing from her, they would look at her like her head was on backwards. The shoebill, for its part, kept its impassive gaze forward, unwavered by her confession.</p><p>Despite its quiet, unmoving nature, Popoki decided it was fine enough company.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Lush</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Popoki and Emet sit down for a few drinks in Tomra. Takes place towards the end of 5.0, sometime after the scene at the ladder.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sat at one of the outdoor tables in Tomra, Popoki nursed her third cup of grog. Or was it her fourth? Sixth? She was losing count.</p>
<p>“You keep going like that, and people will start to think their dear hero is a lush.”</p>
<p>Popoki glared at the source of the smooth, sardonic voice next to her. </p>
<p>“I’m full of primordial Light. I can be full of grog if I want,” she countered, eliciting a light laugh from Emet-Selch. It took her by surprise at how pleasant it sounded, and how she wished to hear it again.</p>
<p>He shifted in his seat, taking a sip from his own glass. While his long, lean form proved an ill fit for the dwarven furniture, he managed to squeeze himself onto one of the small stools at the low table. A feat that gave Popoki no small amount of amusement when he had unexpectedly joined her for drinks.</p>
<p>“Did Amaurot have taverns?” she asked as soon as the question entered her mind.</p>
<p>“Piqued your interest, have I?” He tapped the rim of his cup in thought. “Perhaps some other time, I’ll indulge your questions. But not here, while you’re so deep in your cups.”</p>
<p>Accepting his answer, Popoki nodded. Wherever, whenever this Amaurot was, it was clearly something dear to the Ascian, not fitting for tavern talk. </p>
<p>“Then tell me this instead: How well can you hold your alcohol, Ascian?”</p>
<p>He shrugged.</p>
<p>“Just as well as any mortal body can—”</p>
<p>“No, no, no,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “I’m not asking about <em> Solus. </em> I’m asking about you. How much drink can <em> Emet-Selch </em> handle?” </p>
<p>Maybe her words slurred together more than she realized, because he looked at her with wide eyes. Then, the corners of his mouth turned up in a slight smile that softened his features.</p>
<p>“Were we back on equal terms, I couldn’t out-drink you. That much I’ll concede.” He took a long swig, turning his gaze towards the wilds of Kholusia outside the small settlement.</p>
<p>She wasn’t sure what <em> ‘back on equal terms’ </em> meant, and the alcohol bubbling in her veins tampered down her curiosity, but she held a smug satisfaction in the idea of drinking an Ascian under the table.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Avail</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Post 5.3. Y'shtola offers some advice to a hero doubting her choices.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rain landed with heavy drops against the cobblestone road of Revenant’s Toll, collecting into puddles and forming narrow streams that flowed downhill to the Aetheryte. Popoki, having taken shelter sitting on the ground under an overhang, jolted awake. She didn’t mean to catch a quick nap while waiting for the weather to change, but her recent lack of resting at night had gotten the better of her. </p>
<p>Disoriented from the lingering fog of sleep, she leaned back against the cold stone wall, trying to force herself to wakefulness. How long had she slept for? The sun still tried to shine behind the grey clouds, so it couldn’t have been for very long, she hoped. </p>
<p>The sound of footsteps against the wet road caught her attention.</p>
<p>“There you are.” Y’shtola’s familiar voice called to her over the murmur of the rain. “We’ve been wondering where you’d gotten off you. Were you able to find what we needed?”</p>
<p><em> Ah, that’s right, </em> Popoki remembered. Urianger and Y’shtola had asked her to harvest some plants from the Tangle. Her search had taken her by Castrum Centri, and that was when her mind had wandered, back to the First, back to <em> him </em> , to <em> remember </em> ...and then to Elidibus, and <em> how she couldn’t— </em></p>
<p>The long, deep sigh from Popoki did not go unnoticed by her friend. Closing her umbrella, she crouched down next to the melancholy Lalafell, both now taking shelter from the rain together. </p>
<p>“What happened on the First, it still weighs heavy on you, doesn’t it?” With her keen eyes and sharp tongue, Y’shtola never minced her words. A trait Popoki appreciated. She liked it best when people were direct with her and returned with her own unobscured answer.</p>
<p>“It does, but it weighs as it should.” She watched a far-off carriage turn a corner, heading out of one of the gates. “It’s no easy thing, to stand above a man broken. Even when you know the fate of the world depended on your victory.” </p>
<p>Y’shtola hummed, giving thought to the hero’s admittance. The rain continued to pour around them, determined to drench all of Mor Dhona. While she had been asleep, a slight chill had set in, sending a cool wind blowing through the settlement. </p>
<p>“I cannot possibly offer any advice on the matter,” Y’shtola started, “except for this—take your time to work through this. It will not avail you to force yourself to ignore these feelings.” She turned to Popoki, her voice growing softer with her expression. “For once, the world seems willing to give you a moment to breathe. I’d suggest you take advantage.” Then, standing, she extended a hand. “Come, let us get out of this weather. I’ll even make some tea, strong like how you are so fond of.”</p>
<p>Using the offered hand, Popoki got to her feet, and followed close under the umbrella as the two walked back to The Rising Stones. No matter how strong the drink, it wouldn’t solve her problems, but it was at least a start.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Ultracrepidarian</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>More origin story. Popoki, age 8, uses big words she may or may not understand.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re being an <em> ultracrepidarian,” </em> Popoki declared after her brother continued to not listen to her. She knew exactly how to cook stew, and he was doing it <em> wrong. </em></p>
<p>“You don’t even know what that word means,” Popofuqi sighed, stirring the big pot on the stove.</p>
<p>“I do to!” She scrunched up her nose. “...Miss Dewla explained it when I was trying to tell her about Nald’thal.”</p>
<p>Surprised by his sister’s boldness, he choked on a laugh.</p>
<p>“What were you doing explaining anything to her?” he asked incredulously. “She’s the head of the Order, Popoki, and has been studying the Traders for longer than you’ve been alive.” </p>
<p>“I know that!” she huffed, puffing up her cheeks in defiance. “But she was wrong, and I had to tell her.”</p>
<p>Giving in to his curiosity, he set down the spoon and looked over at his sister.</p>
<p>“What could she possibly be so mistaken about that you had to correct her?”</p>
<p>Standing tall, Popoki readied to defend her stance on the matter once again.</p>
<p>“Everyone thinks they’re two people, but I know Nald’thal is just one person.”</p>
<p>Dumbfounded, Popofuqi stared at her and blinked, slowly. And then again. Where this could have come from, he had no idea. But his little sister was wont to have strange ideas sometimes.</p>
<p>“I think you’ve been spending too much time at the temples, is what I think,” he decided, but didn’t argue with her on it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Tooth and Nail</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Inspired by the Tales from the Shadow side story. Popoki has a sweet tooth, which comes as no surprise to Emet-Selch.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With an annoyed, exhausted sigh, Hades sat down on the black sand of the volcanic island’s beach. Normally, he’d be more wary of getting his robes dirty, but they were plenty singed and covered in ash already. </p><p><em> “There,” </em> Hades grumbled, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Crisis averted.” </p><p>Azem plopped down next to him, bundle of grapes in hand. Despite taking the brunt of the hits, she still had ample energy, being better accustomed to such intense battles and their drain on one’s aether.</p><p>“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asked cheerily, popping a grape in her mouth before offering the bundle to Hades. Determined to be stubborn, he raised a hand to turn down her ill-begotten fruits. “C’mon now, we fought tooth and nail for these! Enjoy your well-earned victory.” </p><p>Always taking his moods in stride, she grinned wider at him, and that was enough to break through his meager defenses. Fighting to keep a smile from his face, he plucked a grape from the bunch. </p><p>At least it was every bit as sweet as she promised they’d be.</p><p>⸻</p><p>“What are you doing, hero?” Emet-Selch’s voice came from high above Popoki as he loomed over her, watching her work at her portable cooking table.</p><p>“Making jelly.” Unphased by the Ascian’s sudden appearance in the Crystarium, she continued to stir the bubbling, golden mixture. “Harcot jelly, to be exact.” She nodded to the bundle of small, yellow fruit among the ingredients next to her. Without waiting to be asked, he reached over and plucked one from its stem, and took a bite.</p><p>Sweet, just as he expected.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Part</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Post 5.3.  Out of all the weapons Popoki has amassed over her adventures, there is one she will never part with, lest she forget.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A pair of footsteps descended the stairs to the basement of the Rising Stones.</p><p>“Thank you again for indulging me,” G’raha said as they came to the landing, a long hallway stretching before them. “While my staff is fine enough, I would like to practice with other disciplines. Just in case.”</p><p>He turned to Popoki, giving her a cheeky grin, but she could only return with a half-hearted smile. Not that she minded loaning him a weapon from her armory; she had plenty to spare, but—</p><p>By now, most of the Scions had learned of her misgivings about what happened between her and the Unsundered. She suspected Y’shtola had confided in them, if only to save Popoki’s feelings lest the others made some remark about the fallen Ascians. G’raha, perhaps for the best, remained unaware. And she wasn’t sure she was ready to sully whatever image of a<em> hero </em>he had of her.</p><p>They stopped before a heavy, reinforced door. Pulling from her pocket an iron key, she unlocked it with an echoing<em> clang </em> and pushed it open.</p><p>With a gust of fire aether from Popoki, the lamps in the armory flickered to life. The sight illuminated before him had G’raha’s scholarly mouth watering: weapons, from multitudes of disciplines, of both magic and war, covered the walls and filled the long shelves in between.</p><p>“Nice of them to give you your own room to store all of this,” he commented, awe-inspired.</p><p>“Some things I collect are best kept guarded behind lock and key, dangerous as they are.”</p><p>G’raha traced his fingers along the handle of a war axe hung up on the wall. That one she had taken to Azys Lla. The rapier next to it came with her to Doma, and the greatsword next to that helped fell many of Nidhogg’s brood.</p><p>In her vast armory, she remembered every weapon she had brought to battle. Every one playing a small part in her adventures.</p><p>As they made their way through the large room, G’raha pursued her collection like it was a museum. He’d pick up something and ask her about it, which she gladly answered, before setting it back down to inquire about the next.</p><p>Towards the back, in a separate chamber, housed her most prized possessions: her selection of staffs and rods for black magic. </p><p>“The Order would have a fit if they ever saw this,” Popoki said as she watched G’raha flit about the room. This assortment of the arcane had especially grabbed his attention, but it would anyone with an educated eye. To suit her passion for the darker arts, she only collected the finest of weapons.</p><p>When he moved towards the back, her breath caught, eyes widening. Against the far wall rested a workbench, and atop that, a rod in the middle of repairs. Something she forgot to store away before her guest’s arrival.</p><p>“What happened to that one?” G’raha asked, just as she hoped he wouldn’t.</p><p>“That,” she started slowly as she approached, “is the weapon I brought with me up Mt. Gulg… and then down to the Tempest.”</p><p>The rod had suffered greatly. The Light raging within her had bleached where she gripped, turning the staff ivory in the middle, and the final battle with Emet-Selch pushed the crystal ball set at the end to its limits—thin, white cracks formed spiderwebs inside its deep purple. Now, as it was so corrupted by the Light, it could not channel aether properly without repairs.</p><p>“Why do you keep it?” Keeping his expression neutral, G’raha turned to her. “With such a vast collection, surely this can’t be worth the effort.” </p><p>Frowning, Popoki closed her eyes.</p><p><em> Because he asked me to remember, </em>she thought.</p><p>“It’s a one of a kind relic,” she said instead. “Would be a shame to let it go to waste.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Ache</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Origin story, takes place after chapters 4 and 6. Popoki gets that final push she needs to become an adventurer.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Are you gonna buy something or not?”</p>
<p>As he helped another customer, the towering Roegadyn man shot a glare over at Popoki. She had been standing in front of his stall for several minutes, rocking nervously from foot to foot. Despite all the gill within her heavy coinpurse, still even the most basic of scepters remained out of her budget.</p>
<p>“Well?”</p>
<p>“Just give me a second to decide!” she huffed at the impatient merchant. To decide what, she wasn’t sure. She could practice her haggling skills. Or maybe he had some cheaper wares in the back…</p>
<p>As she was figuring out how to stretch her coin, a familiar black-robed Lalafell came up to the stall.</p>
<p>“Jealous Juggernaut. I trust you have my order?” Cocobuki’s smooth voice had Popoki snapping to attention. She rarely saw the thaumaturges’ eldest guildmaster outside of the Ossuary, and in broad daylight, no less.</p>
<p>“Right here, sir! And, ah, sorry about the inconvenience, having you come all the way out here. Been hard finding good help and all.” Reaching under the counter, the merchant held up a narrow shipping crate, popping the top open for Cocobuki to inspect its contents. “One black horn staff, just as ye ordered.”</p>
<p>Inside laid a long, ebony staff, with two crystals set at the head, encased in a pair of carved horns. Its elegance had Popoki’s eyes widening, mind racing at what she could do if she had something that nice to call her own.</p>
<p>Cocobuki took the staff in hand, feeling the weight and checking to make sure it was properly balanced. Satisfied, he made to leave before noticing Popoki standing next to him.</p>
<p>“I know you,” he said, turning back around to face her. “You’re the person who’s been running errands for the guild.”</p>
<p>She nodded. Even with all her work for them, this was her first time speaking to any of the guildmasters, as she usually dealt with the receptionist and priests out front.</p>
<p>“I’m here for a new cane,” she explained, holding up her current one. Held together with string and singed along the handle, it made for a sorry sight. “As you can see, mine’s a little worse for wear.” </p>
<p><em> “That thing?” </em> With a rare flash of emotion in his only visible eye, Cocobuki looked scandalized at the poor, decrepit thing. “That’s a fast road to an early grave.”</p>
<p>“Trust me, I know.” Her hand still ached from the burns her cane inflicted on her yesterday. At least her brother’s salve went a long way to soothing it.</p>
<p>Cocobuki seemed to think on something for a moment before asking the merchant about his stock of bone staves. The man obliged, handing him one of the white staffs propped up in the back of the stall.</p>
<p>“Here.” The guildmaster held it out to a dumbfounded Popoki. “Yayake always speaks highly of you. Consider it thanks for helping her out so much.”</p>
<p>For once, she couldn’t find her words, and accepted the gift wordlessly, looking at it with mouth agape in surprise. Carved from the bone of some great beast, it was far beyond anything she imagined herself ever wielding. Already, she could feel it tuning into her aether, ready for her to cast her first spell.</p>
<p>“Join the guild,” Cocobuki said flatly, interrupting her thoughts. “It’s not just your reliability I’ve heard about. Your talents with the arcane are wasted on only being an errand girl.” </p>
<p>Before Popoki could say anything, he turned and walked back down Sapphire Avenue the way he’d come, leaving her head spinning. Encouraged by the guildmaster’s words, she gripped the staff tight in her hands, a new determination flaring to life inside her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Lucubration</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Takes place after that one Tales from the Shadows. Azem and Lahabrea come to an understanding.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“And that you would use such lucubrations—”</p><p>“I’m sorry, what?”</p><p>Lahabrea’s brow twitched under his mask at Azem’s sudden interruption. He cleared his throat, regaining his composure. </p><p><em> “Lucubrations. </em> The products of my studies, of hours of work pouring over concepts. The selfsame ones you seem to treat with frightening carelessness.”</p><p>Azem opened her mouth to interject again, but thought better, though Lahabrea knew exactly what she was going to say.</p><p>“Yes, the plan with Ifrita and the volcano worked,” he said for her. “Yes, it spared the island. But such high level concepts are not meant to be used on a whim, you know as much. Things could have easily gotten out of hand.”</p><p>“Emet-Selch was with me.” She shrugged, as if that should ease any worries he had.</p><p>Sighing, his shoulders drooped. Though Azem carried herself with composure, the Speaker knew his lecture would go unheeded. And by her technically skirting around censorship, there was little else he could do.</p><p>“Maybe,” Azem started with a hopeful tone that caught his ear, “we can come to an understanding. What if I, perhaps, gave you a full report on my testing of Ifrita and how it handled itself out in the field? Mayhaps then, you could overlook this transgression?”</p><p>Lahabrea’s brows quirked upward. He had considered nothing of the sort before, and now his mind raced with the possibilities. Were she to employ more of his concepts in the course of her duties, she could provide invaluable data. Data him and his colleagues could otherwise never collect for themselves…</p><p>“I see…” He tried to keep his tone level even as the excitement at the idea coursed through him, and Azem, somehow already knowing his mind, grinned up at him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Fade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Post 5.3. Popoki keeps the memory of Emet-Selch close, in her own way.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A brisk wind blew through Mor Dhona, stirring up leaves around Popoki’s feet. In the rocky land between Revenant’s Toll and Saint Coinach’s Find, she could be sure her experiments didn’t endanger anyone. Or set anything on fire, which was a real problem when dealing with the dark arts of black magic. </p>
<p>She took a deep breath in, focusing on her own aether, feeling the spells churning just beneath her skin. On her breath out, she chanted an incantation of her own making and held her hand skyward, the very air around her quivering.</p>
<p>Sparks shot upward from her palm, knocking her backwards onto her arse. Cruses to no one spilled from her mouth as she got up and dusted herself off.</p>
<p>Days of research, and still nothing to show for her efforts of trying to mimic Emet-Selch’s ley lines. They stuck out vividly in her memory of that battle, how the red lines weaved around his arms, allowing them to move with him. Something she, and her stationary ley lines, couldn’t have been more jealous of. And so, she had spent her time recently pouring over any and all tomes she could find on the techniques of black mages past, even going so far as to read Mhach history books.</p>
<p>Sighing, Popoki squinted at the orange sun setting over the lake, daylight quickly fading. So wrapped up in her work, she had scarcely eaten anything today. If she skipped another evening meal and collapsed from hunger, she might never hear the end of it from Tataru. </p>
<p>Picking her way through the rocks and debris, she started towards the settlement. After a good dinner and a proper night’s rest, she’ll get back to it. That much she promised herself, to not give up.</p>
<p>If only in a pale imitation, she would bring something of him with her on her journeys</p>
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